


Something Stupid

by khazadspoon



Series: Swing Whilst You're Winning [4]
Category: DCU, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Swing au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khazadspoon/pseuds/khazadspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark may be a little jealous of Zatanna for dancing with Bruce. But when he goes to talk to the man, maybe ask him out to dinner, he gets more than he'd hoped for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> okay so I was writing a short thing for the Swing!AU when I thought why not add on that thing I wrote earlier as a sort of morning after thing? So I did. There you go.

Clark didn’t drink.

It wasn’t a conscious choice, he just had never felt the need.

But as he watched Bruce dance closely, intimately, with Zatanna to some slow song Shayera was singing he felt the need to drink the whole bottle of whiskey he knew was three inches below his hand on the other side of the counter.

Ted gave him a sympathetic glance and placed the bottle on the top, reaching around for a glass to put next to it.

“On the house, Clark,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks, Ted.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man put a dirty glass down under the bar and shrugged. “You look like you need it.”

Clark sighed and poured a glass, looking at the amber liquid with a cautious eye as Ted wandered back to the other end of the bar. When he looked out at the small dance floor, Bruce was still swaying gently with Zatanna, their bodies so close that it was hard to distinguish where one began and the other ended.

He was in love with Bruce Wayne, that much was obvious. It was obvious to most people at the club; except Bruce.

Sure, they spent a lot of time together when Bruce was in town, but beyond that…

He drank the whiskey quickly, savouring the burn as it warmed his throat. As he poured the second, he saw Diana approaching from the corner of his eye. She sat next to him, long legs crossed at the knee, and picked his glass from his hand. He watched as she drank his drink in one long gulp and filled the glass again.

“I won’t ask you for a dance,” she said, swirling the liquid in the glass. Clark nodded his thanks and took the glass from her hand. On the dance floor, Zatanna laughed at something and Bruce smiled at her.

He _smiled_ at her.

Clark’s stomach rolled inside him, the alcohol suddenly seeming like a really bad idea.

“What do I do, Diana?” He asked quietly, trying hard not to look like he was staring at the couple on the dance floor. Diana put her arm under his and leaned into him.

“You wait till he’s finished dancing, you walk over, and you buy him a drink.”

“But he doesn’t-”

Diana squeezed his arm. “He’ll say no, and _you_ say ‘then how about dinner?’ The forwardness of it will knock him for a loop and he’ll be too stunned to say anything but ‘yes’,” she rubbed Clark’s bicep through his shirt, the familiar touch calming him just a little.

“That sounds relatively simple, but… I just can’t,” he took sip from his drink and rested his head on Diana’s shoulder. She sighed softly, the swell of her breast touching his chin briefly, and reached up to tousle his hair.

“It _is_ simple, Clark. If only either of you would see that.”

They lapsed into silence as the song continued and Clark tried to quell the sickly feeling in his stomach as he talked himself into asking Bruce to dinner. When the song ended and Bruce pulled away from his partner, there was a soft look on his face that made Clark’s chest tighten. He wanted that look to be aimed at _him_ as Bruce danced with _him_.

Zatanna pushed her long dark hair over her shoulder and said something that made Bruce’s smile falter and dim. His eyes flicked over to the bar, straight to Clark, before darting away again. Clark watched as he touched her arm briefly and backed away into the crowd.

So much for asking him to dinner.

Then Zatanna was walking their way.

“Go after him,” she said, poking Clark’s chest. “Go after him _right now_ or so help me I will _push you_ after him.”

He didn’t need to be told twice; he moved quickly, glancing back to see Diana’s smirk as he pushed through the relatively thin crowd. When he reached the back door, he couldn’t see anyone. But he pushed the fire exit open with the hope he’d find Bruce out there like he had a dozen times before.

And he did.

Bruce looked nervous when Clark touched his shoulder, the rain falling steadily around them, and Clark suddenly wondered what the _hell_ he was doing.

“Bruce I-” he started, swallowing thickly as Bruce looked up at him. He’d never noticed the couple of inches he had on Bruce till that moment.

Then Bruce was kissing him.

Bruce’s fingers were in his hair, tugging him closer, and Clark had no choice but to press him into the wall, one hand grabbing Bruce’s hip and pressing as close as he can.

He _needed_ Bruce.

Their mouths crushed together, tongues pressing together and sending sparks down Clark’s spine, and he moaned as Bruce’s hips pushed forward into his. He hefted Bruce’s leg up, fingers curling round Bruce’s thigh tightly, and pressed closer, _closer_ , until all he could feel was _Bruce_.

“Clark, Jesus, _Clark_ ,” Bruce panted, his breath misty in the cold air, and his arms wrapped around Clark’s neck. They moved together in jerky motions. Clark was hard, the blood that should have been powering his brain moving southward even faster as he realised _Bruce_ was hard, too.

He wanted Bruce.

He wanted to take Bruce back to his apartment and do this _properly._

But then Bruce was kissing his neck, biting softly at the exposed skin, and Clark could only moan and tip his head back into the rain, his hips stuttering forward as pleasure coursed through his veins.

“Come to my apartment,” Clark managed to gasp, his hand cupping Bruce through his slacks and squeezing, the harsh moan that tore from Bruce’s lips was like ambrosia to his ears. Bruce nods, the drag of his lips against Clark’s neck so _good_ as he does.

They barely made it to Clark’s apartment just around the corner, two flights of stairs up; Bruce had pushed him into the wall and kissed him until his knees went week.

When Clark managed to open the door they slipped in and Bruce dropped to his knees, clawing at Clark’s clothes and then his mouth was-

“ _Ah_ ,” Clark’s head hit the closed door with a thud as Bruce’s mouth closed around him. Hot, tight, wet. He ran his fingers through Bruce’s hair cupping the back of his head.

It was too much, he couldn’t-

“Fuck, Bruce,” he tugged the hair gently. “Get up here.”

Bruce pulled off with a wet pop and Clark felt his knees shake. “Where’s your bedroom?”

\--

Bruce woke slow and easy from sleep, legs spread out and arms folded under his cheek as he lay on his front. Soft sunlight played over his skin as his senses awoke. He smelled bacon and toast and that was reason enough for slipping out from under the warm sheets. But what made him move was the quiet sound of Clark singing to himself. He looked around the room and found Clark’s shirt from the night before and his own boxers, and put them on quickly.

As he padded quietly to the kitchen area, Bruce made out the lyrics.

_“..I practice every day to find some clever lines to say to make the meaning come true,_   
_but then I think I’ll wait till it gets late and I’m alone with you._   
_The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red and oh the night’s so blue…_   
_And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’.”_

Bruce poked his head round the door and saw Clark’s (sadly) clothed back at the counters. His hips were swaying side to side, making the cotton apron sway. Dark curls stuck up and out in all directions and caught the light coming in through the kitchen windows and Bruce remembered running his fingers through them the night before. Clark pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger as he pushed the bacon around in the pan.

_“Then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’,_

He tipped his head to the side, voice soft and a little sullen, as the pushed the bacon onto a large plate with pancakes on.

_‘I love you…’”_

He picked the toast out of the toaster and put it in a rack. Bruce watched quietly from the doorway. He didn’t want to intrude; Clark looked so comfortable in his own space, his shoulders relaxed and his expression soft and inviting. It was tempting to go and slip back into bed just so that Clark would have to go back to the bedroom to wake him. But he’d spent the night wrapped in Clark and even  _that_ hadn’t been enough.

When Clark turned around, he jumped slightly before grinning. “Hey,” He said quietly. “I was about to come wake you. You hungry?”

“Starving,” Bruce returned the smile and stepped into the kitchen. He sat at the table as Clark placed plates, glasses, and a carton of orange juice onto it. “If I’d known you cooked I’d have jumped you sooner,” He teased. Clark flushed, the pink spread down to his neck, and poured himself a drink.

“I cook a little. I’ve lived alone since Lois left, and had to look after myself after leaving Smallville,” He poured the juice into the glass in front of Bruce. “You don’t cook?”

Bruce took a few slices of bacon and some toast, spreading butter thinly over the toast as he shook his head. “Not really; one of the perks of coming from old money. Or the downsides; depends on your point of view.”

“Ah,” Clark nodded and speared a pancake with his fork. “I guess that’s true. You should try my spaghetti and meatballs, it’s my specialty.”

“I’d like that,” Bruce smiled at him. His chest fluttered as Clark’s eyelids drooped a little when he smiled back. They ate silently together, glancing up every few moments before looking away hurriedly.

You’d think they  _hadn’t_  just spent the night together, the way they were acting.

Then, under the table, Bruce felt Clark’s bare foot brush against his ankle. Clark grinned at him with a cheeky gleam in his eye. His toes tickled at the underside of Bruce’s foot and up the back of his ankle. Bruce hadn’t played footsie for  _years_ , not since he was a teenager.

“I’ve not got a shift till tonight,” Clark nearly whispered.

“Why, Mr. Kent, are you trying to seduce me?”

Clark laughed and dragged his foot up the side of Bruce’s leg. “Maybe. Would that be a problem..?” A hint of worry wormed into his voice.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” He said. Clark relaxed and picked his glasses off of his nose, placing them gently on the table.

“Then I definitely am.”

He stood and cleared the table, pushing Bruce back into his seat whenever he tried to get up and help. So Bruce stared at his ass as he bent down to pick up a stray piece of toast when it fell to the floor. When he had rinsed the plates and stacked them next to the sink to wash later, he turned and strode back to the table. He leaned into Bruce slowly, eyes lidded, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His lips lingered and Bruce felt his pulse quicken.

“Can I continue that seduction now?”

“Yes.”

Clark took his hand and led him to the bedroom. 


End file.
